Wee chesters
by Dark E Midnight
Summary: Wee!chester drabbles and one-shots. Mainly fluff and cuteness but might have a lil bit of angst thrown in. All pre-series (duh!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I had a plot bunny and this happened. Please read and review. Feedback helps me become a better writer. Also, I'm English so there may be weird spellings. All mistakes are my own as I have no beta.**

 **Sam: 4**

 **Dean:8**

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural and anyone or thing recognisable is not mine**

Dean lay on the motel bed, which had a curious yellow stain on the sheet, listening to Metallica on his Walkman. He resisted the urge to sigh as he felt a distinctively sticky hand tug his sleeve. "Yeah Sammy?"

"Deeeeean. Me bored." His annoying kid brother whinged.

"And?" As if it could be that easy.

"Play with me!"

With an internal groan, Dean rolled onto is front and gave his brother his full attention. "What do you want to do?" He really really hoped it wasn't pirates again. His nose still hurt from the last time.

Sammy frowned in thought. This probably felt like a life changing decision to a 4 year old. "Me want to play…" he paused dramatically. _Just get on with it!_ Dean thought desperately. "Dress up!" Sammy announced.

Well, that wasn't _too_ bad. "Fine, what are we dressing up as?"

Sammy frowned again. "Um. You choose." He stated with an enormous smile.

Dean scrambled for ideas and picked the first one that appeared. "Ok. We're dressing up as our favourite superheroes."

Sammy frowned again. "But Dean! Don't know who to dress up as."

Dean sighed. His little brother could be so infuriating sometimes. "Well I don't know who your favourite superhero is!"

Sammy pouted and used his puppy eyes. Dean felt his will power disintegrate into nothing. "Who's the most bad ass person you can think of?" Sammy thought a bit longer then an infectious grin spread across his face. Dean felt himself smile in response. If Sammy was happy it meant he was doing good and it didn't matter dad had been gone almost a week or that they'd had Mac 'n' Cheese three days in a row.

"Ok" Sammy was practically vibrating in excitement. Dean cast his eyes over the deteriorating room. His gaze fell on a ancient blanket which was a nondescript colour that could be interpreted as almost red. Fine, he could be superman. Dean tied the blanket best he could around his neck and pulled a clean pair of boxers of his jeans. It would have to do.

"Sammy? You ready?" He called without turning around. "1…2…3…" he spun around to the sight of Sammy in one of Dean's shirts. "Who am I?"

Sammy squealed as he worked out the answer. "Dean's superman! Who is Sammy?" He asked.

Dean frowned. Who could it be? It was batman, superman, the hulk or captain America. He sighed then gave up. "I don't know, Sammy."

Sammy smiled and gave Dean a hug. "I'm you because your the best superhero ever."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Any ideas or more drabbles? Please read and review. All reviews welcome.**

 **Sam:6**

 **Dean:10**

"Daaaaaad! Dean's poking me!" John glanced in the mirror to see his eldest glaring at the scenery as if it were a poltergeist and his youngest glaring at his brother with his arms folded.

At the mention of his name Dean swivelled his head round to face John. "Sammy was licking me." He complained.

"Was not!"

"Was to!"

John sighed. He was NOT in the mood for this. "Dean, you're the older one I expect you to act like it."

"Yes sir." Dean muttered as Sammy stuck his tongue out at Dean in triumph. John choose to ignore the latter. He knew he was being unfair but he was just so damn tired. He'd being driving for around 19 hours straight only stopping for the bathroom and fuel. They'd long since eaten the crappy sandwiches he'd bought from the first petrol station they'd come to. Next service station, they were stopping. John needed some coffee and the kids needed some food.

John enjoyed the blessed silence as much as he could. It wouldn't last long. Earlier in their journey, even this short interval would have been impossible as Sam had been tired which meant he was cranky which meant temper tantrums and tears. That got Dean worked up as well and soon there had been none stop shouting matches. John briefly wondered if the fact he had allowed his kid to to get so tired he throw a fit over dust meant he was a bad parent. Probably. Fortunately, Sam has finally managed to catch a few zzzzs a ccouple of hours ago so he was just a bearable level of irritating.

"Daaaaaaad!"

John rolled his eyes but forced himself to remain patient. "Yes, Sammy?"

"Dean's shoving me!"

"No I'm not! Dad, he's lying!" Dean exclaimed indignantly.

John gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Sort it out! If I hear another word it'll be extra push-ups when we get to the next hotel." Furious whispering came from the backseat. Gradually, it disappeared and there was silence again.

"Dad? Can I sit int the front now?" Dean asked timidly.

With immense effort John smiled at his kid. "Ok buddy." Dean climbed into the passenger seat with an expression of relief on his face. Sammy had been a menace this whole journey. John felt himself relax and begun to enjoy speeding on the empty road.

There were muffled thumps coming from his kids' side of the car. He ignored them despite their increasing frequency and volume. It quickly got to the stage where they were impossible to ignore. John moved his head slightly so he could glimpse Sammy kicking Dean's chair. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Couldn't his kids just get along for once? Obviously not.

"Sam."

"Yes, Dad?"

"Stop kicking Dean's chair."

"But daaaaaaad, I wasn't!"

"Son, that was an order."

John glimpsed in the review mirror and was treated to the sight of Sam pouting with his arms crossed grumpily. Silence fell again.

Dean twisted around in his seat so he could face Sammy and broke the silence. "Hey, there's some toy soldiers in the bag by your feet." John smiled. No matter how annoyed Darn was at Sam, he couldn't bear him to be unhappy.

"No fun playing by myself." Sam responded sulkily.

John heard the quiet sigh of exasperation. "Dad? Can I sit in the back and play with Sammy?"

"Yes." Just keep him quiet, John pleaded with his eyes. Dean nodded once and clambered into the back seat.

"Ok, so you have to grey ones and I'll have the green ones and…"

John smiled as he listened to Dean organising the game. Dean was great with tactics and strategy. Soon the car was filled with the sound of fake machine gun fire, dying and best of all, laughter. It had been far too long since he'd last heard his sons laugh. They deserved better. And they would have it, he just need to find the thing that killed Mary. Then everything could go back to normal.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thought I'd try something a bit different. Please read and review. All mistakes are mine.**

 **A/N2: Just remembered chips are fries in America. Oops.  
**

 **Sam:3**

 **Dean:7**

I was midway through my shift when they entered the diner. The dark, stormy man who walked like a soldier and the two little boys. One had longish, brown hair and chatted nonstop. The other had short, spiky, blondish hair and a guarded expression. They sat one one of the tables I served. As I approached to take their order, I plastered on my best waitress smile. "Hi, I'm Kelly and what can I get for you today?"

The man glanced at the board. "Burger, fries and beer." He ordered in a deep, authoritative voice.

"Yep." I found it hard not to frown in disapproval over drinking in the afternoon with children.

He turned to the older kid. "What about you, buddy?"

The kid frowned slightly. "Burger and fries please." His voice was cool and sounded like it belonged to someone much older.

"And would you like a drink with that?" I chirped cheerfully

He glared at me slightly. Clearly fake happiness irritated him. He opened his mouth to answer but his dad got there first. "He'll have a juice."

"Anything else?"

The man glanced at his youngest. "Fries and another juice. Thank you."

It was a clear dismissal. I nodded and hurried away.

A few minutes later, I brought them their drinks. The big brother trained his wary gaze on me. It felt wrong: kids that small shouldn't be so mistrustful. He nodded curtly in thanks when I placed is juice in front of him. It was an enormous contrast to his little brother who gave me a heartfelt grin and said "Tank you." In an adorable toddler way.

As I handed the man his icy beer, I noticed a silver wedding ring adorned his hand. I wondered where his wife was. Something told me she hadn't just stayed at home. "Thanks." He said simply as he placed his beer on the table. As I walked away I couldn't help but look back. The man now had the little one on his lap and was putting the straw in the kid's juice box with a precise motion. I smiled and got back to work.

When I returned with food, the man had lots of sheets of paper (research?) spread around him and some kinda notebook which he scribbled in sporadically. Both his sons were sat to the right of him, near the window, with little bother in the middle. The two boys seemed to be playing some kinda game which had them both in hysterics. The older one looked the happiest I'd seen him. They both fell silent when I approached and their dad glanced up from his work. He nodded his thanks as I placed the plates of food on the worn table.

As I was working, I regularly looked over at the small family. The older kid practically inhaled his burger but took joy in flicking his fries at his brother. However, the little one seem to take great delight in this as he picked at his fries and slurped his juice. The man shushed the kids every now and then and ate distractedly.

As the man kept working the elder kid kept his brother amused with stories which animated his face and made his eyes glow. The younger one listened happily with a look of interest and content. The man mainly had an expression of concentration which was punctuated periodically with grateful glanced at his oldest.

The man had a kid on each leg and was talking to them lovingly. He looked so much more handsome and carefree. The older looked ecstatic to be with his dad and brother and not have to amuse the little one. He looked younger and cuter than before. Probably because of the infectious grin on his face. The little one looked delighted to finally have his dad's attention.

Next time I looked, they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Has this in my notes for ages unfinished. I didn't have the motivation or the muse to finish it properly so I'm just gonna post it how it is.**

 **Sam:6**

 **Dean:10**

Dean opened the cupboard hoping, despite what he knew to be the truth, that there would be more food than the stale remains of the bread and a jar of raspberry jam that was being to turn green and grow mould inside. Dad was meant to be back by now. Biting his lip, Dean opened the fridge to the sight of half a pint of milk that had been begun to be watered down days ago and remnants of a packet of cheese that even Dean couldn't consider keeping. The rest of the kitchen yielded enough Lucky Charms for one last small bowl and a final box of Mac 'n' Cheese. Just then Sam wandered in from the other room, obviously tired of the endless reruns of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Please don't ask what's for dinner, Dean prayed. It was no use. "What's for dinner?" Sam asked innocently

Dean sighed. He could sense a tantrum was near. Sam didn't particularly like Mac 'n' cheese at the best of times, let alone having it endlessly as their resources ran dangerously low. Sam didn't understand why Dean could just order a pizza or walk Sam down to McDonalds. Sam might be smart but he didn't understand a lot of things like why he had to wear Dean's hand-me-downs and couldn't just buy new clothes, or why they had to keep moving around and couldn't just live in a nice house in one place, or why their dad was never around, or why they didn't have a mom like everyone else or why- "Dean?" Sam's voice broke through his train of thought.

"It's Mac 'n' Cheese tonight, Sammy." Dean stated flatly. He was already stealing himself for the definite outburst.

"But Deaaaaaaaaan!" Sam wailed. "I don't LIKE Mac 'n' Cheese! We had that yesterday an' the day before an' the day before that an'-"

"Shut up, Sammy! I get it!" Dean hated that he couldn't make his little brother happy but sometimes Sammy was such a brat.

"But it's not faaaaaaair!" Sam moaned.

"Newsflash: life ain't fair." Dean had worked that one out the moment he realised his mum had gone up in flames and wasn't coming back. He became more convinced every year that life sucked. Not that he needed much convincing anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I don't even know where this came from. If u have a wee!chesters idea just PM me.

Before Mary died Dean talked. A lot. In fact, John often wished he would shut up. He talked about what he thought about everything and what he was feeling. What he said was always genuine and came from the heart. His emotions flowed out his mouth without any restraint. If he was hurting he had no hesitation in asking for helping or telling someone.

After Mary died Dean became silent. And when he did talk again he was taught to lie. To pretend to be someone else. At school he had to pretend to be 'normal'. When he was hurt he had to pretend to be ok. When adults interrogated him he had to pretend that everything was fine. When Sammy asked him when dad was going to be back he had to pretend to be in control. When he was forgotten he had to pretend he didn't care. He had to wear a mask of so often that eventually he didn't bother removing it.

One of the things he learnt when he wore a mask for the first time was that complaining about trivial things threw people of the scent. If he complained about the music they wouldn't noticed how upset he was. If he complained about a splinter they wouldn't notice the way he was struggling to stand up. If he complained about the food they wouldn't notice how desperate he was. He also learnt that is you act like an asshole people will generally leave you alone. And that making jokes, however bad they are, convinces people you are fine better than an assurance. Dean learned to be loud about the small things but silent about the things that mattered. It took his dad and brother way too long to realise that when he said he was fine he was screaming for help. That he wore a perfect facade. That just because he was speaking it didn't mean he was communicating. That sometimes he needed them to notice he was lying.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is based on a tumblr post I saw. Written in like two minutes. Opinions?**

 **Sam: 12**

 **Dean: 16**

Dean smirked as Sam lost rock, paper, scissors. Yet again. It was a new ritual that he'd come up with recently after the arguments over who dug the graves had caused Dad to threaten them with press-ups. Sam was getting tired of the arrangement real fast. It was too bad Dean could anticipate Sam's every move. He was so predictable.

"Better get digging, Sammy." Dean handed his scowling little brother a shovel and was unable to contain the grin that engulfed his face. Grave digging was the worst.

"Jerk." Sam muttered as he pushed himself past Dean to where the violent deceased currently resided.

"Bitch." Dean retorted while switching the safety of his pistol. "You're just pissed because, man, you suck at that game."

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes.

A couple of hours later the sun was beginning to show. If Dean had been digging this hunt would have been finished hours ago. But no. Even though Sam had dug the last three graves, his jerk of a brother had to insisted on that stupid game. Now Sam was aching all over and he wouldn't have time to finish his essay which was due in tomorrow. Today Sam mentally corrected himself as he glanced at the sky. Hopefully he wouldn't least have time to clean his sneakers before school. He was teased enough without grave dirt covered shoes. Suddenly he heard his brother shout. "Sammy, watch out!" That was the last thing he remembered before he felt himself fly through the air and it all went dark.

Dean shot the ghost full of rock salt before sprinting towards his fallen brother. 'Come on, Sammy.' was his urgent mantra as he shook Sam desperately. After a frantic couple of minutes, Dean was rewarded with a murmured 'Dean?' He leaned back against the tree Sam had smashed into with a sigh of relief before remembering the ghost was still hanging around like a bad smell. In one fluid motion Dean stood up and grabbed the shovel.

Soon he had dug down to aged wooden coffin which he cracked into with a whack of the shovel. While he watched the remains of Mr Robert Gefferty go up in smoke he swore Sam would never loose rock, paper, scissors again. From now on it would be Dean who would be put in danger.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Been almost a year but I'm back. Thanks for your patience.**

Sam had homework. The nice teacher with the pretty smile and the hair that smelled like strawberries had set it. He couldn't remember her name. After 3 schools in the last month (excessive even for them) it was getting hard to keep track. The constant moving probably was linked to November creeping closer like a cloud above to cover the sun.

Sam really didn't want to be in this hunt. He hated the woods and the way all the shadows appeared to be constantly shifting and each step he took created a cacophony that seemed deafening in the terse silence.

Usually, Sam would be arguing with everything he had but he knew better then to test his dad this close to _the_ day. His usual characteristic short temper seemed endless compared to the yelling that made an appearance with every sentence out his dad's mouth. The drinking hardly helped. Each night when they weren't on a job, Dad would walk to the nearest bar and wouldn't return until the next morning when he'd be in a fowl mood and snap at every sound.

And Sam couldn't even rely on Dean's support at this time of year. Dean didn't even seem to be aware when there was a disagreement on going. He withdrew into himself and barely spoke a word. It _almost_ made Sam long for the loud, tuneless singing that acted as his alarm clock.

Sam barely stayed a week in each school too. He was falling further behind all his classmates and he didn't see anyway of catching up. If today's hunt was successful, they'd be gone tomorrow. So maybe it was a good thing Sam hadn't done the homework. It was looking unlikely he'd have a chance to turn it in.

Due to the amount of travelling lately, Sam had read every book he owned at _least_ 7 times. He debated the risks of asking his Dad if he could buy a new one before deciding the risks outweighed the benefits.

Sam hated November for lots of reasons. A plethora even. But he hated it most because the date meant nothing to him. Sure, he knew what had happened. And he could practically feel the pain oozing off his dad and brother. And he hated that they were in pain and he had to spend a moth creeping round on tiptoes. But that was the extent of emotion he felt about the day. He didn't mourn his mom. She was abstract. Disconnected. A pretty fairytale that Dean used to whisper to him when Sam had asked why they don't have a mommy. Sam didn't want to avenge her. He wasn't fighting a war in her name. He hunted because that's what his Dad and brother did. Not because of a faded memory that had been embellished beyond recognition. To hear the elder Winchesters talk about her, she was beautiful, funny, kind and pretty much every other good thing it was possible to be. She was perfect. An angel. And to Sam, she wasn't real.

"Sam, Grab the gear."

Sam jumped slightly. The car had pulled to a halt without him noticing. He grimaced as he slid out his seat while swinging the bag over his shoulder. They had arrived. Sam sighed and prepared himself for a long trek filled with lengthy silence.


End file.
